7. Indie
INDIE
ONE YEAR LATER
“How long do we have?”
A familiar rumbling voice sounds behind me, and strong arms tighten around my waist. I crack open one eye and check the bedside clock—relieved, we still have time.
“Forty-three minutes,” I yawn, burrowing back deeper into his arms.
We’re still naked, Teddy’s warm chest pressed against my back like he’s my own personal space heater. I hum in pleasure as Teddy’s lips press soft kisses at the back of my neck, his beard tickling my skin and making me smile.
“Good,” Teddy rasps, his scratchy, sleep-heavy voice still making my stomach flip. We’ve been together over a year now. It feels like both a second and a lifetime. This is the longest relationship either of us has ever had, and I want more.
The fairy tale happy ending and all that.
And I think I might just get it.
Right now, I'm about halfway through my fourth year of residency—which doesn’t feel real. I was one of the lucky ones to find their specialty early and stick with it.
Back at the start, oncology didn’t jump out at me. I assumed I had a natural surgeon brain, but my old professor and mentor at Northwestern saw something in me. He suggested oncology, and I resisted at first—until the first day of my first rotation, years ago.
I was assigned to shadow a cocky senior resident who said he wanted to ‘pop my cherry’ and told me to go break the news to his patient that her cancer had returned.
I shook as I delivered the news, but somehow, I found the right words to inspire hope. She hugged me and said she wanted to start treatment right away. She wanted to fight.
Afterward, I received praise from the chief attending, while my senior resident was scolded for letting me deliver the news. Now, years later, I’m a senior resident myself.
Almost at the finish line.
I’ve been offered a position at Hyde, as well as at some hospitals in Michigan and Wisconsin. But I haven’t received a response from my dream hospital—Bluewater Cancer Center.
It’s a relatively new hospital in the shore town of Cape May, New Jersey—almost 900 miles away. Only fifteen minutes from the beach, and for a girl who’s never been, that sounds incredible.
I’ve always been landlocked in the Midwest through college and med school.
This is another reason for The Vacation. For the last ten years, I’ve been planning and saving for my dream vacation through Europe. Four weeks traveling in London, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Florence, and then finally Santorini.
I’ve been scrimping every spare cent I can that doesn’t go to my bills or loans, and putting it in a designated bank account. I’ve been saving since I was seventeen, and I have $11,000 saved. I could just throw it at my student debt, but Phoebe talked me out of it.
“You’re going to be making beaucoup bucks soon, Doc. Go on the goddamn vacation and enjoy life before medicine swallows it whole for a while.”
She’s right.
As an attending, it’s going to be quite a while before I get to enjoy a long vacation like this again, so I might as well do it now.
I’ve put it off three times already—once before med school. Again, the summer before my intern year. And then again for the same reasons: wanting some more money to make the best of my trip.
The time is now.
And as my fingers tangle with the ones on my stomach, I smile, thinking about how I’ll be able to share it with my Teddy.
He had said yes before I finished asking the question.
I drift in and out of consciousness for the next forty minutes before my alarm goes off, telling me we need to get up now or we’ll be late to the Williams Thanksgiving.
Not that I’m in any rush.
I wasn’t able to attend last year because I was working, but this year I have off. I worked all day yesterday, and Teddy came over to my apartment after, as he normally does after my shifts.
“Five more minutes,” Teddy groans, arms tightening around my waist.
I shake my head. “We have to get up.”
Teddy whines, making me giggle. “Do we have to?”
“It’s your family Thanksgiving. Sucks Danielle can’t come,” I say, genuinely disappointed. I’ve grown close with Teddy’s sisters, even at a distance.
“Should I be concerned with how close you three are?” Teddy chuckles.
“Very.”
“You three and Nana could rule the world.”
I smile.
Nana will be at Thanksgiving too.
Everything will be fine.
“Come on, we have to get up,” I say, turning in his arms. My smile widens when I see the pouting look on his face.
Not much has changed in his appearance over the last year, except that his hair is a little longer. Still the most handsome person I’ve ever seen in my life.
“But I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Teddy murmurs, sticking out his lip even more.
“Oh, well,” I say, bemused. I glance over to my kitchen, “I don’t think I have much, but I have—oh!”
Teddy crawls down between my legs, hooks my legs over his shoulders, and licks me gently.
“Oh,” I gasp, threading my hands into his hair and hearing Teddy’s rumbling moan.
My brows raise as I look around the formal dining room in the Williams house. Dawn has really outdone herself..
The long dining table has extensions added to accommodate the whole family coming tonight. Pumpkins and Pilgrim decorations galore. The picture on the wall of the Pilgrims sitting peacefully with Native Americans and sharing a meal makes me grimace.
That’s not exactly how it happened.
I’ve never celebrated Thanksgiving before. Usually, I jumped at the chance to work on holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's. That made me very popular among my coworkers, who would buy me coffee or little gifts to thank me for taking the shifts so they could spend time with their families.
Dawn arranged little handwritten place cards with everyone’s names in a looping gold script. The leaf pattern matches the napkins, gold holders, and the placemats under the fine china.
Teddy’s pulled into the living room with his father and uncles to watch the game, and I look for my place card on the table.
Teddy’s mother has warmed up to me, but that’s not really saying much. She’s not openly hostile. She’s not outwardly mean. She’s not cruel.
Anything I could ever tell Teddy about her behavior toward me could be explained away.
She’s protective.
She’s particular.
She’s set in her ways.
It seems every time I think maybe I’m making progress and chipping away at the ice, something happens. Dawn jumps at the chance to remind me of my place around her.
Last Christmas, she gave me slippers in front of everyone—really pretty, soft cream slippers. For a moment, I was hopeful. Then I saw they were size seven. I haven’t worn size seven since childhood.
My cheeks burned as Dawn gasped, controlling her tone so it sounded like genuine contrition.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just forgot how big you are! I assume everyone has my foot size of seven. I’ll exchange these for size—what was your size, dear? Twelve? Thirteen? I might have to grab a men’s size…”
Eleven. I wear a size eleven, which is difficult, but not impossible to find in women’s sizes.
Then there were the Indie/Bindi/Cindy incidents.
Teddy’s corrected her every single time, and she swears she understands.
Until the next time.
“Cindy, could you pass the potatoes?”
“It’s Indie, Mom.”
“Bindi, how is work?”
“Indie, Mom.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just such a peculiar name!”
My eyes look for my name, and then I see it—misspelled, of course, but at least she got the general name right.
Indy.
The thing is, she put me all the way at the far end of the table, wedged between two of Teddy’s younger cousins.
Teddy’s on the far side of the table, right next to her. The longer we’ve been in this relationship, the more brazen she's become in letting me know my place.
Literally.
Ellie walks into the dining room, and my eyes immediately go to her, my brow furrowing the closer she gets.
She’s had a stubborn bug that’s been lingering for the last two weeks, a persistent cough that she’s been dismissing as just under the weather. Her immune system is significantly weakened after the chemotherapy, which I remind her every time I see her, but Ellie—or Dawn—just waves me off.
She coughs, and the sound is a little wet. Her skin looks a little ashen. But when she sees me, her entire face lights up like a candle. Her sluggish movements quicken as she hurries over to me for a hug.
I rush over to her, hugging her and then guiding her into a seat to rest.
While she seems pale and exhausted, her smile is still bright, and her silver hair is curled and styled. She was so happy when it started growing again, and it’s now down past her shoulders. She says she wants to get it back down to her waist by next year.
“Thank you, Indie girl.”
“Are you feeling alright?” I ask, reaching down to her wrist and pressing two fingers to her pulse. She pulls her arm from my grasp and kisses my hand, gently patting it.
“I’m peachy,” she coughs lightly. “If this damn cough would let go, I’d be perfect.”
“I still think you should go see a doctor—”
“The only doctor I want to see is you.” Ellie says, her voice kind, but firm. My brow furrows even more, my mouth twisting. She sighs, “If it continues to Christmas, I’ll go see the doctor. Promise.”
I look at her for a long moment, stomach twisting as I nod. Ellie’s been poked and prodded so much in the last two years, battling her cancer. I understand that patients see us so often and spend so much time in the hospital that they sometimes want to avoid it at all costs.
But her immune system is weak, and she’s in her seventies, and Teddy needs her.
I need her.
Ellie’s eyes scan the table, and she frowns, not looking happy at all.
“Why the hell is Indie all the way down there?”
Dawn appears from the kitchen doorway, looking immaculate as always in a dark orange dress and festive turkey apron.
“Oh, goodness! I totally forgot she was coming, and I had already arranged the table. That was the only free place,” Dawn smiles at me. “Do you mind sitting there, dear?”
“I mind,” Ellie says, standing and grabbing the place card next to Teddy—his uncle—and tossing it over her shoulder.